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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27451951">That temple's no joke.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/nasal/pseuds/nasal'>nasal</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The friends we banged along the way [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Red vs. Blue</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Deleted Scenes, after the temple of procreation, learning about people's sexual orientation against your will, rated M for mentions of sex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 16:27:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,123</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27451951</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/nasal/pseuds/nasal</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Grif and Simmons make themselves busy with other shit so they don't have to think about the last 12 hours spent in a stuffy closet.</p><p>Here are deleted scenes from my Temple of Procreation fic that I could not, for the life of me, let go of with dignity.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dexter Grif/Dick Simmons</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The friends we banged along the way [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2031220</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>66</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>My brain Never Stops so I decided to write and post this anyway. No harm in practicing my writing and creating rvb fan content, right?<br/>You might have trouble making sense of this if you haven't read my previous fic: <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27059038"> It's not gay if aliens made you do it.</a></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"You still owe me fifty bucks, asshole!" </p><p>Tucker sounds as pissed as Grif expected he would, but he's still keeling over, eyes watering, and shaking pathetically on the ground, so any venom in his voice does little to intimidate Grif. </p><p>True to his word, Grif has scoured the base for the one they call Lavernius Tucker with clear and icy purpose. The search had proven difficult by the fact that almost everyone he encountered was <em>naked</em> and <em>embarrassed</em> and entirely reluctant to divulge any details of their past twelve hours. It's fine. He understands the plight. He'd be embarrassed too if he had to admit to willingly spending time with Tucker. </p><p>An innocent message sent out to a private channel had given him all the information he needed. Turns out Donut has been telegraphing Tucker's location to anyone who asked, himself, Sarge, and <em>Carolina</em> included. </p><p>"You're making a lot of demands for someone within kicking range." Grif spits back. The kick to the crotch he delivered on behalf of Kimball could get him into the professional leagues. He is wearing his armor to make it that extra bit painful, but given that Tucker is also wearing the bottom half of his armor, it doesn't feel as satisfying. Grif's not above stomping on Tucker's balls until his eyes pop out, but Tucker is nowhere near as vulnerable as Grif would like him to be. </p><p>An idea pops in his head. It's devious and petty and guaranteed to hurt Tucker, armor or not. He messages Kimball from inside his helmet.</p><p>"Simmons got <em>laid</em>." Tucker groans against the carpeted floor of the captain's lounge, "You said he wouldn't, but he did, so I won the bet, <em>motherfucker." </em></p><p>It had been such a dumb idea. A joke between the two of them when they learnt about the existence of the temple. Now it's infinitely less funny.</p><p>The mere mention of Simmons makes Grif want to grab Tucker by the ankles and swing him on to every available surface. "I don't give two shits about Simmons' sex life." Like saying it out loud can suddenly erase the reality that Simmons' sex life is <em>Grif and exclusively Grif.</em>  "I don't give two shits about anyone's sex life. We're never going to speak about this again." </p><p>"Grif! You're so lazy you missed the meeting where we already agreed!" Sarge has been uncharacteristically quiet this whole time. Probably too busy enjoying the sight of a Red soldier walloping a Blue in the groin to interrupt. </p><p>"That's right." Donut chirps in, atop his ridiculous pillow. "We all discussed it when <em>Simmons</em> was here." </p><p>Grif narrows his eyes at Donut, even though no one can see his expression through his visor. Grif knows all his teammates well enough to know that Donut is his biggest threat right now. Donut is stupid but not when it comes to people. He could sit all dainty-like on the couch and grimace sympathetically at Tucker like a circumstantial bystander, but Grif knows he's covertly coordinating every attack against Tucker's crotch like a fucking spymaster. Crafty bastard.  If Simmons had been here, Donut might already have some clues. Not like Simmons would be keen on announcing his temple activities to anyone, but he's a terrible liar on a good day. Grif has to prepare himself for the very real possibility that Simmons' nervous stammering will give away that they fucked in a closet.</p><p>At the moment, there are no signs of Donut knowing anything, he's just trying to bait Grif for information.</p><p>Not a chance.</p><p>"Good." Grif clipped. "Glad we're all on the same page."  And he makes for the door before Donut tries anything else. Sneaky, crafty bastard. </p><p>"Where are you going, soldier?" </p><p>Grif stops at the exit and says over his shoulder, "To meet with Kimball, we're <em>very</em> close now." And leaves them to stew in that comment.</p><p>Just muddying the waters. No harm in misdirection even though it might bite him in the ass later, Kimball doesn't look like the type of woman who would respond to a rumor like that with grace. </p><p>His helmet dings with a notification. Speak of the devil. </p><p><strong>KIMBALL: </strong> <strong>No Grif, I hadn't considered 'legally and financially punching Tucker in the dick'.</strong></p><p>Politicians nowadays have no creativity.</p><p><strong>GRIF: u said there were no laws abt alien towers<br/>
GRIF:</strong> <strong>but u dont need new laws. just slap tucker with all the child support in the planet<br/>
GRIF: that fucker is practically responsible for all the pregnancies chorus is gonna have anyway</strong></p><p>
  <strong>KIMBALL: You might be onto something.<br/>
KIMBALL: I'll schedule a meeting for us to discuss this. </strong>
</p><p><em>Fuck that.</em> Kimball can't seriously expect him to be any sort of productive today of all days. </p><p>
  <strong>GRIF: do i have to</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>KIMBALL: You can always assist Dr. Grey with her examinations, Captain Simmons and Agent Washington have already volunteered.</strong>
</p><p>Of course they fucking have. Those two have accumulated large enough fan clubs that should they ever fight, it would plunge Chorus into another civil war. Something about Simmons being a cyborg strong enough to wield a rocket launcher single-handedly and yet be <em>endearingly </em>shy is prime crush material for all the teen soldiers in the army (and there are a lot). And Wash is practically everyone's <em>dad</em>. </p><p><strong>GRIF:</strong> <strong>fine ill go to your dumb meeting</strong></p><p>
  <strong>KIMBALL: Give me an hour. I'm a little tied up at the moment.</strong>
</p><p>God, that could mean <em>literally</em>. Has she been hanging out with Donut?</p><p>
  <strong>GRIF: Are you team simmons or team washington</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>KIMBALL: Excuse me?</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>GRIF: btw the reds and blues think were screwing lol</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>KIMBALL: WHAT</strong>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>We learn what Volleyball was up to!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They find Volleyball in the hangar. She staggers out of a Pelican along with <em>five other people</em>.</p><p>For no other reason other than to protect the dignity of Maroon Team, Simmons all but tackles her with a blanket and a bottle of water, leaving Washington to deal with everyone else. To her credit, Volleyball doesn't pass out from embarrassment like Simmons would if their roles were reversed, but her face is burning a spectacular shade of red. Simmons is glad he's wearing his helmet because he's sure he's matching her from the crushing awkwardness of the situation.</p><p>
  <em>All of your squad has a crush on you.</em>
</p><p>Anyone would be mortified at being discovered by their commanding officer after a half-day romp in a military aircraft. The pretty blush on his Lieutenant's face is equal parts post-coital glow and post-coital shame, and no parts <em>romantic infatuation</em>. Grif was just messing with him because Grif is an asshole who loves knocking down Simmons' confidence.</p><p>"How are you feeling, Lieutenant?" He hopes she doesn't hear just how badly his voice breaks over her own inner turmoil.</p><p>She squeaks out answers to his questions, refusing to meet his eyes and doing her best to withdraw into her blanket like a hermit crab. It's the most painful conversation Simmons has ever had, but Dr. Grey gave them a script to follow. Nevermind that Dr. Grey's bedside manner is terribleand the script doesn't have an ounce of <em>tact</em>, following procedure is practically self-care for Simmons at this point. He and Washington had been powering through compromising scene after compromising scene all afternoon, handing out blankets, water, and doctor appointments to every person they encountered. Simmons would tick their name off in his datapad, while Wash would deal with the questions and instructions; then, they would both leave before anyone gained enough sense to have a nervous breakdown.</p><p><em>"As appreciative as I am of your help, gentlemen," </em>Grey had said<em>, "you are laughably ill-equipped to handle the emotional fallout, it's best to leave that to the professionals. Following a tumultuous event such as this, I expect a significant increase in mental distress from the population. Anything from sexuality crises, breakdown of well-established relationships, and pregnancy scares!"</em> </p><p>Simmons is two for three on that checklist. </p><p>He's been doing a good job so far in stamping down all and any thoughts that threatened to bubble up to the surface. Without the temple's effect, his attraction to other people has regressed back to non-existent. Even Wash, who has a cult following in Chorus, does nothing for Simmons. Men in general do nothing for him. And women still make him nervous, but that has less to do with attractiveness and more to do with adolescent trauma.</p><p>Nothing's changed. It was just the aliens.</p><p>He's only concerned about his subordinate because he's a good captain. He would totally understand if she were about to have a freak-out over, say, sleeping with someone of the same gender that she considers a good friend. That would be a reasonable emotional response, right? </p><p>"Um," interrupted a voice, "can I get some water?"</p><p>Simmons expertly yanks himself from another encroaching spiral to look up.</p><p>Bitters looks awful. Greasy hair pointing in every direction, patchy stubble, and drooping eyes. He looks like he's ready for a nap. Simmons had been too busy with Volleyball to pay attention to the other people in the Pelican. Something in him snaps.</p><p>"<em>You."</em>  Bitters is not the type to flinch at an angry superior officer, but Simmons is six-foot-four and cybernetically enhanced<em> and </em>in power armor while he is a five-foot, squishy human in his underwear. "What did- in an- <em>with my Lieutenant?!"</em>  Even murderously furious, Simmons manages to trip over his words. Volleyball groans miserably into her hands.</p><p>Washington materializes in front of him placing one hand on his chest plate, "Thank you, Captain Simmons, I'll take it from here!" He announces loudly. Even though he's not hurting Bitters right now, Simmons delights in the way he's been given a wide berth. </p><p>He focuses on his datapad and imagines popping Bitters' skull like a grape. It's the only way he can hold it together for long enough for his heart to stop hammering in his chest like it was trying to explode out of him. Volleyball and Bitters. Simmons' Lieutenant and Grif's Lieutenant. The association is too close. This job was supposed to distract him from what happened, not throw it back in his face in such a blatantly karmic manner. If he finds out that Matthews had a threesome with Jensen and Palomo in the next Pelican over, he's going to set himself on fire.</p><p>As it is, they don't find any more Maroon or Gold Team members in the hangar, Simmons is only marginally relieved. </p><p>"You know," starts Washington, "we're supposed to keep everyone calm and civil. Remember, we're all on the same boat right now."</p><p>"Yeah," Simmons says tightly.</p><p>"You can't fight everyone who sleeps with your subordinates."</p><p>"Yeah." <em>Just the gold assholes.</em></p><p>"But it's nice to see that you care about them."</p><p>"That's me, I care. So much."</p><p>Washington is about to say more but is interrupted by a loud Caboose barreling towards them. </p><p>"AGENT WASHINGTON! SIMON!" Caboose screeches to a halt before them and holds out something for Washington. </p><p>It's a doughnut pillow. </p><p>Washington makes a choking sound inside his helmet.</p><p>"Dr. Grey was taking a break so she told me to deliver your present while she ate." Caboose explains.</p><p>"Thank you, Caboose," replies Washington tensely, taking the pillow, "for giving this to me in person, instead of leaving it in my quarters like I asked."</p><p>"Yeah, you know, I was gonna do that, but then Croissant asked me to deliver Simon's present and I figured I could do both since you're together!" And holds out Simmons' 'present' for him.</p><p>It's another doughnut pillow.</p><p>Simmons feels his soul leave his body. </p><p>"Aaand I'm done. Bye!" </p><p>He can't handle today, not with all the caffeine, all the liquor in the world, could he have possibly braced himself <em>enough</em> for what he's learnt today and wake up tomorrow a sane man. The alien temple, the closet, Volleyball and Bitters, and now <em>this.</em></p><p>Hero of Chorus and super-soldier Washington is invested in taking it up the ass.</p><p>
  <em>...and is under the impression that Simmons is on the same level.</em>
</p><p>But Simmons doesn't even know that about himself. And how the hell did Donut know? Is he just super observant like that? Donut's a sneaky bastard but Simmons was wearing armor and walking normally, how did Donut figure it out? It only happened once and he enjoyed it but there was a temple scrambling his brain making him feel things that he's never felt before. Then there was that time in the shower that he also liked but there was no temple then <em>and what does all mean?</em></p><p>Washington clears his throat.</p><p>"Did you ask-"</p><p>"I didn't."</p><p>"So are you g-"</p><p>"I'm not." </p><p>A pause. </p><p>"Do you...want to talk about it?" </p><p>"<em>No."</em></p><p>Washington shifts uncomfortably on his feet, fidgeting with his pillow.</p><p>"Man, that temple's no joke."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>
  <b>GRIF: um can you not kill bitters just yet kimball and i need him for busy work</b>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>I have a writing blog now, where I will post links to my works and scream in artistic despondency because Writing Is Hard. It's a little empty at the moment, but hopefully not for long so come say hi at <a href="https://desvarios-desviados.tumblr.com/"> Desvaríos Desviados</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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